


Shoots Like An Arrow

by smitthetwit



Category: Blur
Genre: Gramon, M/M, gralex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7487568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smitthetwit/pseuds/smitthetwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graham loves Alex.  And Damon.  And booze, come to think of it.  Thrown all into one pot, they're not a good mix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Young and Lovely

Graham loved waking up. This was odd for him, as usually waking up was the worst part of the day. But it was alright now, better than alright: remarkable. Remarkable to ease into consciousness each day, tangled up snug and safe in Alex’s long limbs. This was what Graham had been looking for. He didn’t know it, but it was. He watched as Alex slept, his mouth hanging slack, dark fringe a curtain, shielding his eyes from view. His cheekbones were sharp, even in soft sleep, his lips a faint red, and Graham wanted that. To be like that. He wasn’t striking, or beautiful, but, oh, so lucky to be tangled up in someone who was. He had never been so in love. And that was weird. Graham hadn’t ever felt so strongly about someone before, except maybe Damon.   
The sun splintered through the window, making it a little too light to stay asleep. Graham could never sleep when the light was in his eyes. Obviously, it didn’t bother Alex, who’s face was now pressed flat into the pillow.  
The telephone broke the silence then, like a jagged, rusty knife. Graham winced, leaping up and answering on the second ring, just to halt the sound.   
“‘Lo?” His voice was gruff and raspy from sleep. How gross.   
“Graham? Lobby in one hour, right?” Even Ivan’s voice was piercing, and Graham winced again.   
“Yeah, yeah.”   
“One hour.”  
With a grunt, Graham hung up. Alex still wasn’t awake, somehow. His face was no longer visible, crushed against the pillow.   
“Alex,” Graham groaned, shaking the bassist, though he was morally against waking him. But Alex was up in a second, stretching his long arms above him and rubbing his eyes. Graham simply admired him, a sloppy smile on his face, and hoped Alex didn’t notice too much.   
“You’re all jumbled up in my legs,” the bassist laughed, swinging off the side of the bed. “You must be sore.” Graham shook his head, though Alex was turned the other way.   
“I’m not,” he answered immediately. “I like it. I like your legs.”   
Alex chuckled in his easy way, making Graham blush. He never said the right things, in the right voice. Somehow, that seemed not to matter, and Alex hadn’t gotten sick of him. In a quick decision, he rung up room service, to order some champagne- stat, while Alex freshened up in the washroom.   
“Heard you on the phone, what’s for brek then?” he asked, emerging a minute later. He kissed Graham, and his mouth tasted of spearmint.   
“Grand Siecle,” Graham mumbled against his lips, eliciting another laugh from Alex.   
“Oho, you know me way too well,” he cried, pushing Graham on his back so he could climb between his legs.   
“Lobby in an hour,” Graham reminded him with a smirk and a waggling finger. Alex rolled his eyes before pressing their lips together, peeling Graham’s shirt off. The guitarist squeaked in delight, but the champagne arrived at that moment, and they had to drink that first. The contact was lost, but the bubbles burning down Graham’s throat were almost just as good.   
Alex looked godly as he drank, head poised as if he was sitting on a throne, long fingers nimbly holding the delicate glass. Even his hair was so polished, rippling over his forehead and nearly to his chin. He said he needed a trim, but really, he didn’t. He resembled some sort of victorian nobility. Graham felt scruffy just sitting beside him.   
The bassist pinned him to the mattress, booze still perched in his hand, and ghosted his lips down Graham’s chest. He stopped to nip at the guitarist’s perked nipple, using just enough teeth to make him shudder. The hand that had been holding the champagne was now trailing to Graham’s waistline, dipping beneath to stroke at his thigh.   
Graham squirmed, the heat pooling in his groin becoming a desperate need. “Aw, c’mon, quit teasin’,” he pleaded, pushing his hips up against Alex’s hand. Showing off his straight teeth in a quick grin that made Graham want to scream, Alex swiftly tugged his pants down, enveloping his cock in his mouth in one fluid motion. Graham let out a high pitched moan, regretting it as soon as he had, but then forgetting as he felt Alex’s tongue sliding expertly along his length.   
“C’mon, c’mon!” he slurred, grabbing at the bassist’s hair. The strands were too silky, and slipped through Graham’s fingers like ribbon.   
Alex was silent as he removed his mouth from Graham’s dick, sitting up to palm at his own erection. He rarely spoke during sex, instead focusing entirely on what he was doing, letting Graham be the vocalist, which suited him well. Not that Alex was quiet, because he wasn’t, at all, but there weren’t many words spoken. Not like Damon, who’s speciality was whispering the most delicious, awful things into your ear, or calling them out to the entire neighbourhood.   
Damon. Why did Graham just think of Damon? He was with Alex, in the middle of their morning ritual sex. Damon had nothing to do with that. Chasing the thoughts from his mind, Graham reached forward to capture Alex in a hungry kiss.   
And suddenly they were one, pressed against one another, rocking in a motion that melted Graham’s mind. The feeling of Alex pumping into him, his breath hot and quick in the crook of his neck, was nearly enough to push Graham over the edge in the first five seconds. But he had to hold on, he couldn’t let go that fast.   
Releasing Alex’s back from a vice grip, Graham fell back, focusing on the form of his love, head thrown back in ecstasy, sweat glistening on his temples. He was truly glorious, especially when he angled into that spot inside Graham that was beyond anything he had ever felt before. They both cried out as this happened, Graham from the feeling and Alex from knowing exactly what was there and what it did.   
“God, again!” The guitarist pled, and Alex did so, making a small sound as his arms trembled with the effort of keeping himself upright. His limbs always went like jelly during sex, and he usually ended up in a heap, crushing Graham half to death. Using what was left of his strength, he repeatedly rammed into the guitarist, making sure to hit his prostate each time until he was a mess of incoherent mumbling into Alex’s chest. He gripped Graham’s cock, and felt the younger man come erratically in his hand. It wasn’t long before he did the same, pulling out and collapsing beside Graham.   
For awhile, all was silent except for the laboured breathing of the two musicians. The champagne lay nearly finished, but it wasn’t worth the effort- the bubbles had now gone flat. It wasn’t very good champagne.   
“I need my fuckin’ inhaler,” Graham murmured, letting his arms hang limply over the side of the bed. Alex snorted a laugh, and pulled Graham under his arm, nestling his nose into his hair.   
“Your heart is fluttering like mad,” he observed. Graham rolled his eyes, pulling his glasses off the side table.   
“Only for you, love,” he replied, sighing softly as Alex traced a constellation on the freckles on his back. They were silent again for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of each other’s skin.   
“It’s been over an hour, I think,” said Alex, and Graham was quiet a second before erupting in giggles.   
-  
“We’ve been sitting here, yunno,” Damon spat once the two guitarists sat down at the breakfast table. Despite Damon’s obviously unhappy appearance (He was slumped over his tea, slumping even further when Graham and Alex arrived) they were bright eyed and rosy cheeked, refreshed from their previous activities. As they sat down, Alex gave Graham’s thigh a short squeeze, and he rubbed his cheek in delighted embarrassment. He shyly kissed Alex’s nose before settling into the menu, making a few confused sounds as he read it.   
“Oh stop it, you love birds,” Dave grumbled, taking a long swig of coffee. Obviously, he was joking, he always was, but Alex rolled his eyes anyways. Damon, however, scowled at Alex and stabbed a piece of sausage with much more force than was needed. Graham pursed his lips, but didn’t take any more notice. Damon could be awfully moody sometimes.   
“I’ll have eggs,” Graham announced loudly, making everyone jump out of their grey morning stupor.   
“You’re not going to have eggs before the show, are you?” said Dave. His expression implied that having eggs before the show would be maybe the worst idea in the world, face all contorted like he smelled something particularly nasty.   
“Well, why not?” Graham asked, genuinely curious. Damon sighed, as if it was obvious and Graham was thick for not seeing that. Then he answered for Dave.   
“We go on in two hours, you want to be vomiting egg all over the stage? Someone will slip.” Damon’s tone was like a slap in the face, and Graham physically recoiled behind his menu.   
“Alright then. I’ll just have the toast,” he muttered, warming up at the comforting feeling of Alex’s hand on the small of his back. The feeling was ruined, however, when he glanced up and saw Damon’s grimace across the table.   
-  
The gig was going extraordinarily well. Damon seemed to have forgotten about being so angry, and had returned to his usual, manic self, leaping about the stage, and climbing the rafters and PAs. Graham was relieved. It had been a difficult journey to the venue. Their singer was on the warpath against anyone who countered him, and Graham felt bad for hiding behind Alex and letting him take the fall for a fluff- that had not been him. Alex replying with: “It’s just a goddamn fluff,” appeared to upset Damon even more, and the blonde turned away in a huff, muttering to himself about a certain someone’s dignity. Even Dave had gotten snapped at, though he returned with a big, round puff of smoke in Damon’s face. Needless to say, all four men were happy to let themselves get lost in the music.   
Alex was so involved in his bass playing alone that he barely noticed when Damon deviated from the song to prance over to Graham. His eyes narrowed at what was unmistakably a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Bristling, Alex very clearly bummed a note, and had to force himself to just concentrate on playing. It wasn’t like it was a big deal, Damon and Graham were always up to those sorts of things- kissing and cuddling each other. It was their thing. Damon didn’t even kiss him on the mouth. The cheek was ameteur for them. But Alex was still allowed to be bothered by such things. Graham was his boyfriend, after all. Whatever. Alex could forget it. Besides, he couldn’t risk messing up again- he would never live it down.   
But then it happened again, during Starshaped. Damon marched over to Graham, grabbed either side of his face in his hands, and smacked their lips together with a loud noise that Alex, across the stage, could hear. Then Damon strutted away, winking comically at Alex, who must have looked positively dumbfounded. It wasn’t as much the actual kiss, as Graham’s reaction, smiling goofily at the floor and rubbing his strumming hand all over his forehead and hair, that made Alex even more irritated than he had been. Graham was acting like a schoolgirl who had just been kissed by her football star crush for the first time. It made Alex’s stomach twist. Grudgingly, he turned towards his bass and didn’t look up for the rest of the show.   
-  
It was late at night by the time Alex had the nerve to ask Graham about the show. They had been out to dinner afterwards, and it had been a good time. Graham was drunk, and all over Alex, as usual. This was great, it sure boosted Alex’s confidence, much more than the groups of girls that were hovering around his chair the entire night, but the nagging feeling hadn’t left. They were in bed, nearly asleep before Alex voiced any concern.   
“That was really bollocks today, Gra,” he declared through the darkness, disliking the sound of his own voice ringing through his ears. There was a second before he felt Graham shift beside him, half asleep.   
“What bollocks?” he asked, barely intelligible. Alex sighed. This wasn’t a conversation he was keen on having. He absolutely hated being the whiny boyfriend, who clipped their partner’s wings with restrictions and general upset about their behaviour. But this couldn’t be just pushed aside. It was eating away at him.   
“You. And Damon. K-kissing.” It sounded so awkward coming from his mouth, especially so as he couldn’t see Graham’s face when he said it.   
“That bugged you?” the guitarist questioned, flopping over so he could look at the blurry outline of Alex’s head. It was as if he had no idea that kissing someone else could possibly ‘bug’ your lover. Alex groaned internally, running a hand through his hair.   
“Well, I mean, not really, I know you guys do that kind of thing-” A red hot anger flared up in Alex’s chest for a split second, but was gone as soon as it had come. “But.. But you just.. Damon seemed like...” He couldn’t figure out how to put what he wanted to explain. “He acts like you’re his,” he finally said. Which you aren’t, he added mentally. Graham was quiet for a moment, thinking.   
“I suppose he can, sometimes.”   
Alex didn’t have a reply to that. Yes, that was what he just said. Was Graham going to simply agree?! That wasn’t exactly what Alex was looking for, so he stayed silent.   
“But I’m not his,” Graham continued after another moment’s pondering. “I’m all yours, and you know that, don’t you?” He reached out to stroke Alex’s cheek, and the bassist flinched at the sudden touch of frighteningly chilly fingers. “It’s all just for a laugh, me ‘n Damon.”   
“If you say so,” Alex responded. Graham nestled into his arms, kissing him gently.   
“Believe me,” he said sleepily, and Alex had to do so. But if Damon was going to keep acting he way he had been, Alex might have to thump him in the side of the head.   
~


	2. You Seem Starshapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Damon have it out, drunkenly, Dave hates his life and Graham wants to fall asleep

Alex had fallen asleep rather quickly after their conversation. It didn’t take much to pacify him; once he was sure of himself, he was very sure of himself. Graham wasn’t like that, though he wished he could be. He worried about too much. Right now, he couldn’t sleep, as he was worrying. Usually, it was something abstract, and not about anything really important, but at the moment, it was Damon who was occupying his brain.   
The kisses. It was the kisses, making him anxious, though they really shouldn’t have. He and Damon were very close- that was no secret, and their friendship was nearly based on hugs and other physical affection. But since he had started dating Alex, Damon had backed off about ten fold. Graham did miss that aspect of their relationship, but understood why it happened. Their kissing bothered Alex, which made sense- Graham would be awful upset if he saw Alex kissing Damon.   
So, that being said, he didn’t know why Damon was making such an obvious effort to be a flirt now. Was he being flirty though? It sure seemed like it- he hadn’t kissed Graham on the lips for ages, and he was pretty sure he felt a bit of tongue in there as well. And the night before too, at the hotel bar where Graham was having dinner, Damon had sidled up alongside him, said “You’re looking fuckable tonight,” and then stalked off. Graham wasn’t sure what to make of that. It could just have been lad type teasing, but given their history, one couldn’t be sure.   
Graham squeezed his eyes shut, remembering a fateful phone call during his time at Goldsmiths.   
“Hey, Dames?” Graham’s voice was shaky. He had planned this out for days, weeks nearly, but he wasn’t ready to let the words fall from his lips just yet. Or ever, really. Let them stay put forever and Graham wouldn’t have to change anything.   
“Yeah? What’s on, you sound upset.”   
In a flash, Graham thought about Damon- loving Damon, and how lovely that was. Being far from Damon, and how awful, cold and lonely that was. He wanted Damon here, in London, to hold him and talk him down from fits through the telephone, to show up on the bus, hair a mess but cheeks bright and joyful because they were so in love. To have someone who knew Graham so well, he could tell he was upset from miles away. He couldn’t let that go.   
But he thought of Alex, a floor below. He thought of his dark eyes, his hair twisting against the wind, a shiny monster that seduced Graham like no other. Cheekbones, oh, god, cheekbones, and eyes and the word ‘love’ dripping off his exquisite lips like candied lust. Graham thought of the way Alex had sat with him into the early morning, listening and drawing him silly pictures. Their trips to the market, shining faces and arms full of clothes they didn’t need but at that moment just seemed so important to have. Graham thought about going to sleep with Alex, feeling warm and whole because Alex was here. And he had to do it.   
“Damon, I want to be with you every second I can, and I miss you and love you and want to see you every day- but I don’t think this set up is working.” The line was silent for a minute, and Graham kept talking, words speeding up as he got more and more panicked. “I mean, we’re still so young, aren’t we? And who knows, maybe we might’ve just been an experiment, cos things don’t always work out- and of course I still want to be in a band with you and everything. I still love you so much, I just don’t know if... Yunno...”   
“It’s fine.”   
And suddenly Graham hurt. A lot. 

“Gra? C’mon, wake up.”   
Graham rolled over, muttering angrily and making a feeble attempt to shield himself from the light.   
“Come on, you’ve already overslept an hour- Wake. Up.” The blanket was now being tossed to the ground, and long, bass playing fingers were jabbing into Graham’s sides. With a frightened yelp, he sprang up, regretting doing so as a pain in his forehead thumped erratically.   
He tried to recall his dreams, because he knew he had had some, but they weren’t coming back. Groaning softly, he leaned back against the headboard and chewed his thumbnail. Alex was eyeing him carefully, as though Graham had been ill.   
“I’ve made cheese on toast, if you like,” Alex said, swooping over to kiss Graham good morning. He pulled back after nearly a second. “Urgh, your breath is awful, get yourself together.” Graham smiled, making that ‘click!’ sound as his nails were being bitten off. Alex grimaced, but munched happily on his toast, reaching out to offer some to Graham, who just nibbled. He wasn’t very hungry. The dreams that he couldn’t remember had left an uneasy feeling in his stomach, even worse due to the fact he couldn’t recall what had gone on in them.   
“I’m going to shower, we’ve got to be downstairs in like-” Alex checked his watch. “Like fifteen minutes.” He stripped off his shirt, grabbed a towel, and made off towards the bathroom. Graham leapt up, following after him, brow knit in frustration.   
“Aw, c’mon, I need a bath too! I’m so filthy!” he whined, grabbing at Alex’s shoulders in an attempt to get him to turn around. Alex smirked, brushing his hand through Graham’s hair.   
“Come in then.” 

The water was boiling, and seemed to contribute to the ‘sexiness factor’, as Graham had very earnestly put it. The only downside was that it was difficult to limit the shower to fifteen minutes, seeing as things were going so well.   
“You are quite filthy,” Alex observed, his lips humming against the tip of Graham’s erection. The guitarist just moaned, relishing in the hot water stinging his chest. He had already came once, and was almost fully hard within seconds of Alex kissing him.   
“We know, we know,” he tried to push Alex’s head away, though in reality that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Lemme give you a turn.” He managed to slither under his partner, flipping him onto his back so he would have a better angle for sucking his dick. Graham had to admit, he had great lips for dick sucking, nice and full and pouty- he cringed as the thought coursed through his head. Alex was already hard as well, trying not to shudder as Graham gently stroked him.   
“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he hissed, and the younger man smirked, lowering his head down to Alex’s crotch. Graham nipped at his inner thigh before wrapping his lips round his cock, sucking and licking and making a point of noticing how Alex was tugging his hair. He tried to lose himself in pleasuring his lover, letting his mind stray away from coherent thoughts. Eyes shut, his mouth did all the work, his brain on autopilot. It was pleasant, to focus solely on sex. Alex’s impassioned moans were soft background noise, letting Graham know if a certain spot he hit was good, or a move he made. This was so easy, he could nearly turn off and do it. His tongue drew a long line up the underside of the bassist’s erection, puckering up at the new taste of precum on his lips. There was a vein pulsing just slightly beneath his mouth, matching Alex’s racing heartbeat.   
“Graham, c’mon, why d’you just stop like that?” he said, very fast, as the blood was draining from all points of his body down to his groin. “You always do that, you just thinking things over? Come on, I’m about to-” he let out a high pitched groan as Graham started sucking again.   
“Alex, Graham, I’m coming in, as we’re literally late, where the fuck are you?!”   
Both men froze, noticing for the first time that the shower had lost it's heat. But that didn’t matter. Dave had just walked in.   
“In the bloody bath, again,” they heard him mutter under his breath. “Get your furry arse downstairs, whichever one of you is in there!” There was a pregnant pause. “Or... Both of you. Goddamn, you’re probably having a fuck in the bath, I’m going to fucking kill myself. Goodbye, see you downstairs, you fucks!” And the hotel room door slammed shut.   
Graham met Alex’s frightened gaze, a mirror of his own. In a mere two or three minutes, they had ambled out of the shower and were now standing in the lobby, poorly dressed, hair wet but not shampooed or washed, thoughts still on the business they’d had to leave unfinished upstairs.   
-  
Without Alex’s penis to keep Graham occupied, his mind was again on Damon. He kept meaningfully catching Graham’s eye as they tuned up backstage, but the brunette wasn’t sure what the meaning was. Did he know about the shower incident? Even if he did, that wouldn’t be so weird, or call for furtive behaviour. Damon knew that Alex and Graham had sex. It was obvious, and had been for months. Years, maybe, though it was a long, long time before they had actually had sex. Not until the band was big had Alex been fully okay with the idea. Graham had done it with Damon back in Colchester, and had no issue with gay sex, but the whole idea was new to Alex, and it took him awhile to come round to it.   
“Your cheeks are awful red,” Damon noted, and Graham glanced up. Damon had suddenly gotten very close to his face, and his hand reached out to stroke just beside Graham’s nose.   
“Are they?” he asked in a shaky tone, checking to see that no one else was in the room.   
“Yeah,” Damon mused. “Rather like you’re embarrassed, or turned on.”   
That was forward. Wasn’t Damon aware that Graham was trying to push him out of his sexual conscience?! Not reel him back into it physically! Damon was hard enough to forget as it was, without all these coded messages that Graham was having trouble figuring out.   
“Well, I’m not,” he grumbled, twisting away from Damon’s hand to stand up. Spotting a strangely hurt look on the singer’s face, he bit his lip. “C’mon, let’s head out, shall we?” Graham slung his arm round Damon’s shoulder, pulled him in for a short hug, and together they bounded onstage.   
Graham always got such a rush from playing live. It was like the best drugs one could imagine, all rolled up into one feeling that struck you straight in the chest. Sometimes, he could barely breathe for the feeling, like a thick string was tugging round his lungs, constricting the airflow. It was so wondrous, somehow, the way his head got all light, nearly making his stomach sick. The audience fueled it, partly. Impossible, it was, to not get giddy when hundreds, if not thousands, of people were screaming and jumping about, but because you were playing a song. Just because Graham was playing guitar, (and he didn’t even think he was that good!) girls were throwing themselves at him, boys demanding his signature on their shirts, free drinks, and gifts, and parties... It was a wonder Graham could play at all, he was so excited. Even if he wasn’t beforehand, the moment he was up on that stage, the feeling was there again, pulling against his chest, flooding his eyes with tears he really wished would stay inside. It was something else, quite something else.   
And then it was over. In a matter of seconds, you were back to being plain old you, feeling weak and insignificant, huddled backstage with a bottle of horrible smelling beer. Not that there wasn’t that aftershow buzz, like you just came back from another dimension, but oftentimes these days, Graham found it just wasn’t there. Coming down from a show could be awful, especially when Damon was acting like they were some sort of Thing, patting Graham’s bum, winking at him, kissing his neck, (which he knew made Graham a bit crazy). It made sitting alone on a cracked, wooden bench with now two bottles of that awful beer even more upsetting.   
When he ventured out into the rest of the venue, now comfortably drunk, he found the other three sitting an interview. Why had they started without him?! Wasn’t he an integral part of Blur? Hah, why even ask? The answer changed each day.   
“Gra!” Damon cheered, getting up to drag him onto the couch they were sitting on. “Thought you were in the toilet!”   
Graham was quiet, observing everyone for a moment. Damon was drunk too, just a little bit, but enough that you could tell. The interviewer was too smiley, like he thought everything they were saying was so funny. It wasn’t. Alex looked grumpy. Graham couldn’t imagine why, but Alex could get like that. Dave just looked like Dave. A bit bored. Graham patted his knee for good measure.   
“I wasn’t,” he eventually answered, rubbing his nose furiously. “Was just sitting.”   
“Are you drunk?!” Alex demanded, in a more accusatory tone than was needed. Damon scowled at him, and Graham just shook his head.   
“So, on with this,” the interviewer chuckled. He was a little buzzed, too. “Now, since you’re all single-” Oh yes, Graham remembered, the public did think that. They couldn’t know that he and Alex were together. That wasn’t acceptable enough yet. “Apart from you, Dave, so, who do you all fancy then?”   
What a loaded question. Ask something new, worthwhile, Graham wanted to say.   
“Well, I fancy Graham quite a bit, he’s so nice,” Damon said, smiling toothily at him. Graham grimaced, having seen the look on Alex’s face, but let himself be pulled against Damon’s side. The interviewer laughed way too much, and Graham really couldn’t remember the rest of the chat.   
-  
The club was great, though. Really swinging. It may have not been, in retrospect, but when you’re as toasted as Graham was, any club is swinging. Blur had a booth to themselves, which was overflowing. About twelve girls had managed to fit in, their bodies all pressed together like sardines. Alex was eyeing them, which made Graham a little heated. But the lights were low, and he was sure Alex meant nothing by it, one was allowed to let their gaze wander. People could be awfully attractive, and Graham wasn’t one of those people, so he always let it slide if Alex was caught staring at someone else.   
Damon was pressed into Graham’s side, quietly sipping a rum and coke, and resting his hand gently on Graham’s knee. The guitarist was stiff with nerves, this wasn’t supposed to be happening. Damon knew that Graham wasn’t available. He and Alex were exclusive, and of all people, Damon should have known that best. Alex was sure to be angry if he saw Damon pulling anything- Graham froze, even more than before.   
Damon’s lips were dusting against his neck, nipping to make what was going to become a love bite later on. That was not okay. Not at all. Graham tried to push him away, but Damon just laughed and sunk his teeth into Graham’s shoulder, licking over it to hush the sting.   
“You slut!” Graham cried out, leaping away from his bandmate. Damon just cackled and slung his arm round his waist.   
“You love it,” he murmured, his word slurred from excessive alcohol intake. Graham didn’t answer, tortured by the heavy gazes Alex was throwing round. The entire day had been strained, because of the strange shit Damon had decided to pull. Alex was now surly, drunk, and surrounded by women. Damon was drunk and cocky, and Graham was just drunk. He wanted to go home. The night was finished, even though they were all gathered round the bar now, ordering more drinks.   
Damon was still hovering, patting Graham’s bum to the beat of the song playing through the speakers.   
“Dames!” he protested softly, so Alex wouldn’t hear. He wasn’t in the mood to start anything. In reply, Damon leaned in close to Graham’s face, and kissed him swiftly on the lips. Graham was stunned, as he was every time Damon kissed him, his tongue darting out to taste the lingering drink that was left there.   
Then- BAM!- the singer was on the ground, a short howl escaping him. Alex was standing there, fists raised.   
“You fucking son of a bitch!” he yelled, cheeks flushed, arms trembling just slightly. Damon lay there, silent, for a second, then launched himself at the bassist, knocking him off his feet. A tussle began, like something you would see in an old Western: the two men on the floor of the bar, mostly just ripping at each other’s shirts. Only a few real punches were being thrown.   
Nevertheless, Graham was petrified, hopping from one foot the the other, uttering helpless pleas for the other two to stop. He needn’t have worried, though, as a bouncer quickly intervened and threw the entire band out onto the street, inebriated and infuriated.   
“What the fuck?!” Dave demanded, shooting them all dangerous glares as he brushed off his coat. Graham opened his mouth to apologise, but the drummer was already hailing a cab, grumbling as he slammed the door shut, signaling that no one else was to come with him. Damon, too, was stalking off down the street in the direction of their hotel. It would take him at least fifteen minutes to get there on foot, but perhaps it was good he was taking some time alone. Maybe he would calm down. Alex, certainly, needed to; he was breathing heavily, arms crossed, eyes focused on the sidewalk below. His lip was bleeding a bit, and a bruise was forming on his temple. Graham eyed him carefully, biting his own lip. He wasn’t sure where to start from here. It wasn’t his fault Damon had acted the way he did, but Alex might have seen it that way, he really didn’t know. After a few more moments of this awkward silence, and Graham reached out to squeeze Alex’s hand.   
“Shall we go then?”   
Alex nodded, pulling Graham into a loose hug as he tracked down a taxi cab. As they settled in the backseat, Graham kissed his shoulder in a gentle sort of way, stroking a hand through his hair.   
“It’ll be alright, Damon just likes a laugh,” he assured him. Alex scoffed.   
“Yeah, what a laugh,” he said sarcastically. Graham pursed his lips.   
“Well, he’s not got the best sense of humour, maybe, but I’m sure he was just trying to help,” he mused, shuddering when Alex pulled away from his hand sharply.   
“Oh, don’t go defending him,” he snapped. “Christ.” Graham blinked back tears- it wasn’t the time or place.   
“I wasn’t, I was just trying to help.” His voice was nearly a whisper. Alex glanced over, his expression softening when he took in his Graham’s defeated appearance.   
“No, no I know,” he said, then rubbed his nose against Graham’s wet cheek. Even the comforting touch couldn't take away from the fact they both felt incredibly awful. 

Back in the hotel, Alex went for a bath. It was his signature way of dealing with things. And funny enough, usually, things seemed much easier to handle after a long, boiling stint in the tub. Graham reckoned the steam cleared you of stress and anger, possibly. It was one of those herbal things he would never really understand.   
But Alex was going to be in there awhile. His recovery baths could last anywhere from twenty minutes to two and a half hours. At least he was always in a better mood afterwards. It was hard to have sex with someone who was extremely pruned and smelling like bubblegum soap, though.   
Graham wasn’t about to just sit on the bed waiting for him to get out (Though he was great at spending long hours lost in numb thought, staring at nothing), so he unlatched the door, crossing the hall to Damon’s room. It wasn’t the best idea, probably, but he couldn’t simply sit with the feelings. They had been nagging at him for too long, and this past night was setting things over the edge. Graham would be eaten alive by his emotions regarding Damon if he didn’t at least try to confront them now.   
He knocked on the door, and it was a long minute before he could hear footsteps coming to let him in. Damon obviously was peering through the peephole, because there was a significant pause between the footsteps reaching the door, and stopping. Did he even want to see Graham? The guitarist was about to turn and leave, anxiety pooling in his stomach, when the door swung open, and a very much battered Damon stepped aside so Graham could come in.   
“You look rough,” Graham commented, plopping down on the foot of the bed. Damon was quiet, but rolled his eyes, switching off the TV. He had been watching a rerun of a Spanish football game. Graham was glad to see it off; Damon’s newfound obsession with football was slightly alarming, and not at all like the Damon he had known since school. Fame did odd things to people.   
“Yeah, thanks,” the blonde finally replied, settling down next to Graham. “Is there any particular reason you’re here? Just to goggle at my rank face, perhaps?”   
Graham recoiled inwardly. What a funk Damon was in. Granted, he had been rejected by Graham the entire night, then ejected from a club, because of being attacked physically by Alex. It would be absurd if he was in a chipper mood.   
“No, I didn’t come to goggle,” Graham replied, brushing his fringe uselessly across his forehead. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” That was partly true. Of course he was concerned for Damon, but he also had an agenda of his own. There was unsolved business that, though terrified of addressing it aloud, had to be put to bed.   
“Ugh,” Damon grimaced. “It’s the end of a long, long night.”   
Not quite the end, Graham thought, chewing his nails in furious dread. Nothing good could come from this confrontation, it seemed. Surely Damon would toss him out, scream at him, remind him that Graham was the one to break it off, bring back that godawful conversation. It had taken so long to repair their friendship, was it worth it to risk throwing it away because of one too many silly kisses? As per usual, Graham’s mouth ran faster than his mind.   
“You still want me.”   
Damon was silent. It was much too long before he even moved at all, and Graham wanted to jump up and run. He rarely was so bold, and was absolutely sure the move had gone wrong here. He would have left, too, but his body was stuck, sitting curled up on the bed, hands stuffed between his thighs. This was the worst situation he’d been in, at least his last big conversation with Damon had been over the phone. In person, Graham felt even more compelled to throw up.   
And then Damon was kissing him. His hands pushed against Graham’s chest, so he was lying flat on the bed. He had forgotten what the singer’s lips were like, in a serious kind of way. Playful kisses were nothing like this, eyes shut, bodies pressed tight against one another, relishing in the feeling of the other like they might never see them again.   
“Take your shirt off,” Damon commanded. Graham shook his head, though he pulled the t-shirt over his head, twitching at Damon’s hands roaming delicately over his chest. He tried to lean up to kiss him again, but Damon’s mouth was elsewhere, nipping down Graham’s hips, tugging his trousers down to ghost over the crotch of his pants. Graham let his head fall back, making a short sound when Damon traced a hand over his thigh.   
“No!” he exclaimed, shimmying away. No, no, no, he couldn’t let this happen. It was not going to happen. Graham did a lot of things, but being coherently unfaithful to Alex with Damon wasn’t about to be one of them. Not that he didn’t want to, he just couldn’t. Thinking briefly of their kiss, he added ‘not now’ to the statement.   
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, pressing his lips quickly to Damon’s forehead as he stood up, woozy from booze. “I can’t.” He stumbled out the door, trying not to catch the saddened look in Damon’s eyes as he did. 

The next morning, Graham awoke on the floor of his hotel room. Alex was gone, or asleep, Graham didn’t know. The sun was just barely up, but it was painful enough. It took a few seconds, but he soon remembered the night before. That was a common theme, waking up and suddenly recalling what you did last night.   
But the bit with Damon brought back a sickening feeling to his stomach. Paired with the hangover, Graham was sure he was going to vomit. Closing his eyes and pressing his cheek to the carpet, he exhaled deeply and tried to ignore the fact he was longing to at least kiss Damon again. He even felt little pangs of regret at stopping him before they could really do anything. Though he didn't want to admit it to himself, exactly, he had to see Damon again. Heaving up into a sitting position, he wrenched open the mini bar and pulled out a bottle of champagne. It was much too early to be feeling, he decided.


	3. In His Drink He's Talking

Normal. Too normal.   
Graham’s hangover had been cured with a spot of wine and carefully placed sleep, and now he was with the band again, in the lobby again. It was a sad routine that was getting really mouldy, these endless lobby meetings.   
Maybe it just seemed utterly mundane because for once, Graham’s mind was buzzing and horribly alive. Ever since he had woken up, there was but one thing on his mind. Damon Albarn. Graham would fit right in with the entire British female population now. But last night was troubling him, poking at his conscious thoughts every minute of the day, and it was beginning to alter the state of things. He had only caught Damon’s eye a few times, but the effort it took not to make their status obvious was nearly impossible. He wanted to just wrap his arms round Damon that second and kiss the life out of him. That was definitely not supposed to be happening. Graham had done so well with not letting his mind go astray, and yet one small thing happens, and here he was. Properly fucked in the head.   
And Alex, poor Alex! He had been such a good boyfriend (had been?? They hadn't broken up yet!), always coming to Graham’s aid during his various emotional spats, sitting and cuddling him on lazy Saturdays- it was what a perfect relationship was supposed to be. Not much shouting, or strange mindless games that nearly always ended up in more shouting; Alex was just so simple. Not that he was simple minded, as no, he was really quite complex and clever, but he wasn't for shifty relationships. Compared to what Graham had been through before, it was a pleasant change in atmosphere.   
But Alex was not Damon, that was for sure. If any two people could be so insanely different it was impossible to even compare them, it was those two. Graham wasn't sure how he liked them both.   
Back in the lobby, the state of things hadn’t improved. Graham was way too caught up in his head, though that wasn’t unusual. Alex kept looking at him funny, but other than that, everyone seemed completely normal. That was the fact bothering the guitarist to high heaven- why was Damon acting so nonchalant?? Was he simply going to act like nothing had happened the night before? In a way, if so, he was sort of right. Graham had scarpered before any real action could be had. Recalling it again, jolts of regret were leaping through his chest- god, he wanted to just leap on the blonde right then and there and have done with it. The thought practically sent him flying out of his shoes. If Damon was thinking anything even slightly along the same lines, he wasn’t showing it. He was casual as ever, leaning on the front desk as he inquired something apparently quite deep (from the look in his eyes) to the receptionist. He may have been flirting. Christ, he better not be. Graham’s fists balled before he had the decency to remember he and Damon weren’t a ‘Thing’. He had absolutely no right to be feeling this possessive over somebody he had ended it with. It was his fault Damon was gone in the first place. Graham didn’t think he himself was even allowed to be upset about it. But nevertheless, he was irked.   
“C’mon, love.” The words were an oozy liquid, dripping black and oily from Alex’s mouth. Graham was seduced. The way the bassist said ‘love’, like he was ready to whisk Graham away to some kind of beautiful fantasy, it hit him. It hit him hard. Whatever else Alex said, Graham didn’t even hear. He was busy trying to work through the feeling of Alex’s hand gently pressed against the small of his back. It sent tingles up and down Graham’s spine, making his legs go a little like jelly. He was very sensitive to small touches as such.   
“Are we going to a show?” Graham asked, disliking the way his voice sounded so unsure. What was he unsure about? (Well, everything). But other than that- in the front of his mind, nothing concrete, like a show, was messing with him. It was just the way his voice worked, he supposed.   
“No, just dinner in a few hours,” Alex replied, making a little face at the fact Graham hadn’t seemed to pick up on that, though Ivan had just spent many a minute explaining how their show had been cancelled due to heavy rain. Outdoor gigs could be iffy that way. But Graham was even more iffy in the way that he could be present and awake for an entire conversation, but not take any of it in. Alex blamed a little of that on the alcohol.   
“We’re going out to dinner?”   
Alex sighed, nodding and guiding Graham up the stairs. Truly astonishing, how out of it one could be at eleven am. 

Graham could feel Alex’s irritation with him. Even in their hotel room, where they retired after their short stint in the lobby, he could tell the bassist was hiding some of his feelings. Graham had to shut his eyes, lounging across the bed, as he had nothing else to do. Alex was in the washroom, doing his hair or his face or what have you. He was always trying to fix something.   
Graham couldn’t stop himself from comparing Alex and Damon again, for the upteenth time this morning. Their roles were shifting, a little bit. He used to think of Damon as something he had left behind. ‘Remember that?’ Just a past experience, something he wasn’t going to trail back to. But now that seemed to be Alex. Graham had begun thinking of him in past tenses, as if they were over. He had started comparing every one of their traits- from the way they looked at Graham, to how their lips felt against his skin. It was like they were in competition with each other, and the sad part was, at the moment, Damon was winning.   
“Are you alright?”   
Alex was hovering over him, his fringe swaying messily, dripping from the bath as he peered at Graham, brow knit in confused concern.   
“Yes,” Graham answered promptly, pushing himself into a seated position. It didn’t seem right, somehow, and his head got a bit dizzy. “Why’re you asking?”   
Alex looked miffed at that. “Only because I’ve been in the shower half an hour, then you don’t say anything when I call for you, then I come out and you’re in the same position as before I left. That strikes me like something might be wrong.” His tone was snappy as he adjusted the towel round his waist. Graham paused to think before he replied to that, and he managed to catch the subtle dagger eyes Alex was sending his way from the bureau.   
“Nothing is wrong,” he said finally, taking his glasses off and setting them on the table so it would be easier to rub profusely at his face. Alex squinted and combed his hair from his eyes before coming to it on the bed.   
“Kay, I should hope not,” he wrapped his arm round Graham’s shoulder. “That kind of thing just worries me. I know how you can get, sometimes.” Graham was quiet, turning his head down as Alex kissed him. They broke apart after a few seconds, and Alex just looked at Graham. Something was off. Something was terribly, terribly off, but Graham wasn’t about to say what it was. Alex hadn’t been sure of it before, but with this reluctance to kiss, he was definitely sure of it now. He didn’t know what the reluctance was of, but it struck him to the bone, the way Graham was pulling away. This was who he thought was probably the love of his life, possibly crumbling before him, and it appeared that there was nothing he could presently do about it. He couldn’t force Graham to reveal his inner troubles (it would take forever, anyways). Whatever it was, they would just have to leave it be at the moment. Alex brushed his nose against Graham’s and softly reminded him to get dressed for dinner. They were nearly late as it was, and Ivan wouldn't stand for anymore of the guitarists’ tardy faults.   
-

“You can’t just try to get off with me then act like it never happened.” Graham was standing in the threshold of Damon’s room having snuck in there after they had finally managed to tear themselves away from that godawful executive type dinner. The singer had spent the entire time charming various middle aged women, always glancing away every time Graham desperately tried to meet his eye. It was awful. Damon knew what he was doing; it was blatantly obvious. Blatantly obvious and torturous to be on the other side of.   
“You mean like you did?” Damon replied scathingly, not even bothering to look at Graham was he spoke, instead busying himself with changing into a t shirt. Graham gulped. That was low, but he had to admit it was true. Not the same thing, but still true. Graham had distanced himself quite a bit and tried to brush off he and Damon’s past after they split up.   
Carefully, he made his way to the edge of the bed and sat down. Damon just turned his head to look back at him, and tutted. Graham didn’t know what to make of that, but it sure helped to make Graham feel small and insignificant.   
“Why are you pretending though? You’re killing me, Dames, acting like last night didn’t...”  
Damon scoffed, though in a rather goodnatured way, thumping down next to Graham.   
“Look,” he said. “I thought I had made a mistake- I mean, you took off the minute I got anywhere near your pants.” Graham looked up, incredibly relieved to see Damon was smiling, though he was looking a bit like he thought Graham was pathetic. There was a moment of complete silence. Then Damon cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, and went on.   
“Now you’re in my room, acting well pissy about it, so, I have to wonder, did I make a mistake?”   
Graham meant to answer, it was probably his turn to say something, but his cheeks had blushed red hot, and the ability to form words had drained from his brain. Instead, setting a steadying hand on the bed covers, he leaned in to press his lips against Damon’s, drowning in memories he had once hoped would never resurface. A simple kiss could do that.   
Damon kissed back, prying Graham’s mouth open with his own, and letting his tongue slide in to assert a special brand of dominance. Graham let him attain it; he always did, unless he was feeling unusually cocky that day. Though, that didn’t happen often. They were now lying on the bed, Damon just slightly on top of Graham, properly snogging like two horny teenagers. Parting lips, they stared at one another for a moment, taking in a sight neither of them had seen in a long while. For Graham, it was Damon’s face flushed bright pink, mouth parted, a little swollen from all the kissing. His pupils were dilated as the brunette gazed into them, barely any turquoise colour left to see. It was a bit before Graham became painfully self aware, and wrestled his shirt off before he could back out due to aesthetically related anxieties. Damon copied him, and suddenly his lips were hot against Graham’s chest, sucking at his nipples, ghosting cold air to them before nipping playfully. Graham shut his eyes, running his hands through Damon’s hair and letting him do this work. The singer made quick work of his partner, kissing and licking down his stomach until Graham was squirming with giggles. He lifted an eyebrow, eyeing Graham with a familiar exasperation. The guitarist shook his head apologetically, waving in a way that was supposed to imply that Damon should keep going. The loss of contact was going to end him.   
“Sorry,” Damon muttered, now fiddling with the three buttons on Graham’s trousers. “Forgot you had the fucking tickles everywhere.” He groaned, pulling down his own bottoms and rubbing their erections against each other. Graham howled in surprise, losing the reply he was going to say regarding the tickles, and instead wrenching Damon towards him by wrapping his thin arms round his neck.   
“Goddamn,” he murmured, reaching a hand down to his crotch only to be swatted away.   
“Let me take care of it,” Damon said firmly, grabbing a small bottle from his bedside drawer. Oh god, he was going to fuck him. Graham was ready, he was so ready. He hadn’t been fucked by Damon since school, but the memory was still fresh like it was yesterday. Damon had been his first fuck- his only fuck, other than Alex and a few nameless women on tour. Resisting the urge to whine, he pressed up into a position that would allow easier access to his nether region. It was impossible, though, to stay quiet as a slick finger pressed inside of him, wriggling into a proper position before it was followed by a second.   
“Fucking ‘ell, Damon,” Graham moaned softly, moving against his hand to get the fingers in him where they needed to be.   
“Always so fucking keen,” Damon grinned before curling up to the bundle of nerves that made Graham a mess. And true to form, the brunette nearly yelled Damon’s name, clutching the blankets around him.   
“Do it again, but with your dick,” he commanded, opening his eyes to get a look at the singer before him. Snorting, Damon obliged, recalling how silly Graham’s bedroom talk could be. He coated his cock in the lube before pressing slowly into Graham, melting at the young man, panting slowly, his gaze unwavering from his own.   
Once he was in, they started a rhythm- together. It was always together, though sometimes Damon took the lead. Graham’s legs were hooked around his waist, so he could get the most out of being stuck under Damon. Every thrust, he angled himself in such a way that the singer’s dick was being buried deep inside him.   
Maybe he was keen, but he didn’t care; he wanted to feel every inch of Damon that he could, propping himself up to ravage his mouth, nubby nails pawing at his back. He knew Damon liked scratches and bites and things. The more marks you left on him, the better. So Graham ventured downwards, brushing his lips against Damon’s neck.   
“G-Graham!” the singer screeched in surprise, jolting his cock aggressively into Graham. In return, he sunk his teeth into the same spot, moaning faintly as Damon hit his prostate. Words were inaudible, but leaving Graham in strings of unformed, passionate sentences as he routinely licked over the spots he was biting.   
Damon was now coming undone, the sensations from Graham on his neck buzzing straight to his dick, which was just barely satiable by ramming into Graham’s prostate every thrust. The guitarist was even worse off, now unable to provide any energy to the fuck except yowling cries of curses, mixed with made up words and Damon’s name. He had fallen back against the bed, shaking his head and jolting his hips up in an erratic motion. Damon didn’t bother trying to hold him steady, he knew the unintelligible words, growing in volume, meant Graham was close, and that brought him to his own end as well. With an impassioned sigh that more resembled a moan, he came just as Graham did.   
Then they were quiet, both unable to comprehend that they had just fucked for the first time in years. Graham felt like his body was made of molasses, weighed down and impossible to move. Damon slung his arm round his back, pulling him close so he could plant a kiss on his jawline. The singer was going to fall asleep in a moment. He always did, after sex. It just took too much out of him. Graham snuggled under his arm, feeling like he was on Cloud Nine, relishing in the warmth radiating from Damon’s body. Suddenly, the sounds of the city could be heard, cars whizzing by every few seconds, horns, birds and people all calling to each other merrily. It wasn’t even that late.   
“God, I love you.”   
Graham was stiff. Surely he hadn’t heard right. No, no, that wasn’t right. That couldn’t be right. Slowly, he shifted his gaze to Damon, who seemed to be almost asleep. Almost. His breathing hadn’t evened out yet and he wasn’t snoring (Damon could out-snore... a snoring monster... Graham hadn’t properly thought that one through, but the point was that Damon snored something awful).   
But Graham couldn’t handle him confessing love. Not right now. They had just had such a successful fuck, and now he had to go and add unnecessary emotions to it. Didn’t he know Graham was confused enough as it was?! Breathing shallow, the guitarist exited the bed, shakily pulling his clothes on. Damon didn’t even stir- he was sleeping now. Bubbles rising in his stomach, Graham took one last look at the godly state of Damon’s body, and fled.   
-

He had been at the bar for hours. Literally hours, cheerfully engaging in a cycle of tequilas. What a fruity bar, he had thought, since the tequila was what the bartender had offered when Graham asked what he should take.   
But now he was thoroughly gone, slumped over at a table in the corner. Some people had come up to ask for his signature, but Graham was so wigged out from Damon’s confession, that a few of the people had just back away, muttering that it was alright and they’d better be off anyway. So Graham decided he should find somewhere a bit more secluded. At this rate, he would be falling asleep at the bar. He nearly was, as well, until he felt a hand gently push his shoulder.   
Alex had arrived, his smile glowing in that sympathetic sort of way. He held his hand out, barely even flinching when Graham nearly dropped his dead weight onto that one arm.   
“You’re so pissed,” the bassist mumbled, securing Graham in place as he led to the elevator. Graham just nodded a few times, kissing Alex sloppily on his shirt.   
“I so love you,” he answered in a similar tone, trying to imitate Alex. The bassist just did a little snort and hauled Graham down the hall and into their room.   
“I was wondering where you’d gotten to, almost worried,” he said once he had deposited Graham on the bed.   
“I really missed you,” Graham wailed, getting up to wrap himself around Alex. The taller man just raised an eyebrow, laughing lightly. Graham was on the verge of crying, peppering little kisses down Alex’s neck. Though horribly inebriated, he was elated to see his boyfriend. It felt as though he had been through forty hellish years in one day, and being alone with Alex was the best thing that could happen. His essence was so calming, being all tall and pleasantly smiling and whatnot. Graham’s mind was out the window, but petting Alex’s back seemed like a proper way to articulate his joy.   
“I think you need to sleep, maybe,” said Alex, planting them both back onto the bed.   
“No, I swear, I’m not ever going to leave you or anything, I actually just love you so much,” Graham carried on in a whiny voice, messily kissing the bassist. Alex pulled away with a chuckle, shaking his head.   
“You couldn’t.” He knelt down, fiddling with a TV remote. “Right, so I’m gonna put on some telly, and hopefully you’ll just fall asleep to that, kay?”   
Graham nodded, the motion making him a bit too dizzy for his liking. With a soft push from Alex, he he lay back on the bed, making grabby hands at his partner, who rolled his eyes.   
“I may do that,” Graham grumbled, slithering under the covers. Alex lay beside him, eyeing him for a short moment before focusing vaguely on the TV. He wasn’t sure what was going on with Graham, but his emotional rides were rather like roller coasters. He was quite used to them by now, but it never ceased to make him sad, seeing Graham fighting so hard with something in his head. Right now, the guitarist was patting Alex’s arm affectionately, mumbling something about ‘what a day for you’. There were more little kisses, and eventually Alex just had to get under the covers with him, making himself the big spoon, as they usually did. He pressed his lips to Graham’s for a short moment, then tried to distance himself from the conscious world.


	4. It's a Sorry State You're Getting In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short and kind of messy sorry about that! It's a segway chap

Graham squeezed his eyes shut, his breaths coming in short, vocal intervals. Then he had to open them again, because the sight before him was too bloody gorgeous not to look at. He had already come three times that day, a record since his teenage years, but that didn’t even matter, as he was about to come again.   
Writhing on the bed sheets, he managed to lock his heels around Damon’s waist, dragging him down so he filled Graham to the hilt. This was too good- it was simply to good to be true. He needed more, and more, and Damon seemed to know, quickening the paces of his thrusts, nails sinking into Graham’s shoulder blade.   
The singer was beautiful, head thrown back in ecstasy, sparkling blue eyes delicately shut, pink, full lips parted slightly as he panted his way to orgasm. Graham knew his own lips were big and pouty right now, but that was because they were swollen from kissing, and didn’t look nearly as enticing as Damon’s did. Though he could barely think, Graham was trying to alternate between blocking out the world and focusing solely on the feeling of being fucked, and gazing upon the man before him. It was a difficult trade off, and made Graham worn out.   
God, he was close, he was going to explode if Damon kept this up. Not that way, well, yes, that way, but at the moment he meant mentally. This sex was too good, that was the only word for it. Graham cried out, almost in protest at how amazing Damon’s dick was.   
“Scream if you must,” Damon muttered, his mouth now close to Graham’s temple, his tongue poking out to circle the shell of his ear. And then Graham came, for the fourth time since they had gotten back to the hotel. It was like fireworks were crashing and booming beneath his eyelids, his mind going white hot and blank as he howled into Damon’s chest. He felt Damon come into him, and made another helpless noise. 

“Don’t do that ever again.”   
The two had been quiet for a number of minutes, just lying beside each other, resting. They had to, both were properly worn out. Damon propped himself up on his elbow, raising a dark eyebrow at Graham.   
“Are you saying you didn’t like that?!” he demanded, looking insulted. Graham, though his body felt like warm Jell-O, sprang up, waving his arms around floppily.   
“Nono! Nono, no! That’s not what I meant!” he assured Damon, chuckling as he kissed him gently. “It was just too much, like, I can barely handle it, it’s too much.”   
Damon stared at him, his expression one of utter disbelief. Graham inched back a little, almost afraid of what Damon might say or do.   
“So...” the singer began. “You’re upset because your orgasm was too good?” He looked like he might laugh. Graham had to do so himself, it was spilling out of him uncontrollably, like champagne bubbling over the top of the bottle. It was a few too many seconds before he could speak again.   
“No, of course not! Just the sensations, the seductions, all tha-” Damon cut him off, snorting with laughter.   
“So it was too good! I, Damon Albarn, am too utterly brilliant at fucking!”  
Graham shook his head, reaching for the brandy on the night stand.   
“Please, don't flatter yourself,” he chuckled, scratching his hair woozily. They were in Germany now, and had found out there wasn't really much to do in Germany besides drink. And not much wine or champagne either- the Germans liked their hard liquor. And in the midst of all that booze, on the way from Brighton to Berlin, Damon and Graham had become a regular thing. A Thing directly under poor innocent Alex’s nose. He didn’t have a clue- he couldn’t (Graham hoped).   
Had Graham been sober at all since The Thing had started, he might’ve felt a tad guiltier. But alas, he wasn’t sure there had been a completely sober moment since they left Yorkshire, so no, there was minimal guilt, if any.   
But Alex wasn’t dumb. He would end up getting suspicious if Graham was gone too long, or fucked out. Alex was always up for sex, and if Graham wasn’t, some confusions might arise. And more confusions were the last thing Graham needed right now.   
So he regretfully patted Damon on the arm, trying to ignore the way the singer’s brows pulled upwards in a pitiful fashion. He had to go, and told Damon so.   
“No,” Damon pouted, and Graham looked back as he made to get up.   
“No?” he repeated, acknowledging his surprise at Damon’s commanding tone.   
“Yeah, no,” said Damon, shimmying so he was properly sat up, the blankets pooled round his waist. “You don’t have to go right this minute. I mean, we just had a fuck, why not drink a bit? You’re already a homewrecker, at least indulge yourself while doing so.”   
Graham pursed his lips. He didn’t like being called a homewrecker, because he hadn’t been thinking of their relationship in that way. He thought of it more as just ... spreading more love. And when phrased that way, it didn’t seem very awful at all. But phrased the way Damon said it, with the way his eyes flashed as he did, it was rather awful indeed.   
“Since when do homewreckers get to indulge?” asked Graham. Damon just rolled his eyes, holding out a bottle for the guitarist to take. And so he did, settling again upon the bed.   
-  
Graham nearly swore when he arrived back in he and Alex’s hotel room. Not that anything was wrong, per say, he had just expected more of a greeting. A ‘Welcome home!’ from his loving boyfriend, waiting woefully by the door. But no, Alex was in the bath. Graham could hear him splashing and singing in his whiny little voice. Less whiny than Graham’s, actually, but in the present moment, it fit.   
“Alex!” Graham called sharply, rapping on the bathroom door. He was drunk, quite thoroughly now. If he would compare it to being caught in the rain, he would be drenched. Humming in a pleased way about this little metaphor he had come up with, Graham pushed the door open, pointing accusingly at Alex.   
“Why’re you in the goddamn bath?!” he demanded, resting his fist against the sink. Alex stared at him blankly.   
“Fuck do you mean: ‘why am I in the bath?!” Alex repeated back to Graham. “To bloody bathe, obviously!”   
Graham shook his head; Alex wasn’t catching his real meaning here. This was more serious than it came off. So he raised his voice, to match the bassist’s fuller tones.   
“I mean WHY IN BLOODY HELL ARE YOU IN THE BLOODY BATH WHEN YOU SHOULD BE WAITING FOR BLOODY ME?!?” Graham bellowed, throwing his hands in the air. Alex was silent, all he could do was gaze at Graham in apparent awe. The only sounds in the room were the gentle splashes of the bathwater.   
“Holy hell, you’re so pissed,” Alex finally said. He got up, shaking stray droplets of water out of his hair, grabbing a towel and securing it around his waist. “You’re maybe more wasted than I’ve ever seen you- Look at your eyes, love.”   
Graham did so, removing his glasses and peering deeply into the mirror. His pupils were tiny, the whites of his eyes so bloodshot they nearly just looked red. His skin was greenish and shallow. He would probably vomit soon.   
Alex stood behind him, lighting a cigarette. He had trousers on now, at least. Alex didn’t want to have a proper fight without even any trousers. That was just wrong. So was Graham, still staring into the mirror, though not looking like he was surveying any specific part of himself. Alex hesitated before holding out his cigarette for Graham to puff on. The guitarist took it and smoked in an unsatisfied, distracted way.   
“What happened?” Alex questioned after a minute of watching Graham struggle to smoke.   
“Just got pissed,” he replied simply, tossing the cigarette away after some more unsuccessful sucking. Alex rolled his eyes, pulling a little bottle of champagne from the mini fridge and popping it open.   
“That much is obvious. I’m not even going to give you this because I’m sure you’d get alcohol poisoning from drinking another drop.”   
Graham just shuffled to the bed, sank down and closed his eyes. He could hear Alex cross the room, grumbling under his breath as he did. There was a thump and Graham opened one eye slightly. Alex was bent over, positioning a bin next to where Graham’s head was.   
“Here,” he said gruffly. “You’re going to puke.” The door thumped softly and Alex was gone.  
-  
“You fucking prick.”   
Graham bent low, pretending to fix a guitar string, though there was nothing wrong. With his guitar at least. Blur was backstage, and lines of a warzone had quite literally been drawn across the room.   
“If that’s all you’ve got, then I wouldn’t even carry on,” Alex said, a silent, aloof laugh playing across his lips. He tucked his bass into its case and stood up, nudging Graham’s shoulder. “Ready to leave, love?”   
“No, fucking hold on,” Damon spat, stomping over to where Alex and Graham stood (well, Graham was sitting).   
Alex looked bored. “Do you need something?” he asked mildly.   
“Yes, I need something,” Damon said indignantly. “What gives you the idea you can just kiss Graham during a show?!”   
“I don’t know, the fact we’re together?” Alex answered, his expression comically quizzical.   
“No no, I mean, you know you can’t do that! You have no right, when we’re performing!” Damon bellowed.   
There was a long silence. Alex was staring at Damon quite like how he had been staring at Graham the night before. Utter confusion.   
“Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “What gives me the right to kiss my boyfriend during a show, when you do it all the fucking time?” His voice was rising in volume, the cigarette balanced between his fingers trembling slightly.   
“That’s not the same thing at all!” Damon answered in wild tones. “That’s for a laugh, I’m not snogging him while we’re trying to play!”   
“It was just a little kiss, Damon,” Graham mumbled, getting the feeling the singer didn’t think any of this was ‘for a laugh’.   
“That interesting,” said Alex shrilly. “As I can snog whoever I want, whenever I want, especially my fucking boyfriend! So if that’s all...”   
“That’s not bloody all!” Damon shouted, making Graham flinch horribly. “You’re ruining the reputation of the band! We look like poofs, out there kissing onstage! It’s mad!”   
Graham’s eyes widened. If anyone looked mad, it was Damon; and Alex looked downright angry. The bassist took a step forward, showcasing just how much taller he was than Damon.   
“Listen here,” Alex warned, his voice sharp, words deliberate. “I don’t fucking say a word when you’re all over Graham when we play, even though he’s my fucking boyfriend, but if you want to tell me that I’m ruining the group, when you’re the one who really should be watching themselves and not acting on your fanatic jealousy, well, that’s something.” Alex turned away from Damon, who stood there with his mouth open, like a fish waiting for food to drift in.   
“You’ve completely missed the point!” he cried a second later, as Alex packed away his things, motioning for Graham to follow.   
“Have I?” replied Alex sardonically, knitting his brow at Damon before striding out of the room. Damon remained in place for a few seconds before huffing loudly out his nose and turning to leave through the other door. He slammed it as hard as he could, muttering something about being the jealous one.   
Graham, still sitting atop the amplifier, lifted a bottle of beer to his lips. That argument had left him a little dazed and unsure of where he stood. He barely even noticed as Dave settled beside him.   
“That was really something, huh?” Dave chuckled, and Graham just looked at him. There was a minute before he went on. “And you’re kind of in the middle.”   
Graham nodded. Dave eyed him carefully.   
“You should really just stick to one, because things are about to get messy, if they haven’t already, yeah? You’ll get yourself into a sticky situation, especially since you all are so close...”   
Graham nodded again, sipping his beer.   
“I know it isn’t my place, but as someone from the sidelines, Grah, just take care of yourself, okay? And think more before you make decisions.”   
Graham was quiet for a minute, trying his best to mull over what Dave had said. Ultimately annoyed with the drummer’s ‘butting in’ on things he obviously had no idea about, Graham just groaned.   
“Is that all?” he asked. Dave looked taken aback.   
“Yeah, s’all.” He got up, took Graham’s bottle, and left the room, leaving the guitarist alone on the amplifier.


	5. Don't Really Want to Change a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graham isn't sure who he wants more, Alex, Damon, or the river (to drown in)

Alex and Graham were having sex, and frankly, Alex was pleased. Well, it was hard for one not to be pleased while having sex, but the bassist had been worried about where their relationship was heading the past week. Graham seemed to be going down a spiral into his old depressive ways, like he was swirling down a drain with the dregs of Alex’s last bath. Thankfully, sex brought them closer together, or so it felt, and Alex was glad for the closeness, even if it was mostly just physical. Just feeling Graham’s body against him, his hot breath ghosting over Alex’s shoulders as he squeezed their hands together made him feel a bit more whole.   
Graham had seemed a little tired, but took no time in getting worked up, his nubby fingernails making vain attempts to rake themselves across Alex’s sides. Graham couldn’t appear to reach Alex’s back at the moment. He was tired. Awake and ready for sex, but a bit exhausted nonetheless. Thankfully, Alex was on top, letting Graham simply lay there and ponder his thoughts as he stumbled his way to orgasm. Alex gripped the guitarist’s chest, leaning in to press a heated kiss against his jawline in a vain attempt to rouse him back to life. Graham made a small sound that was a bit like a yelping growl. Alex could barely even hear it.   
He was losing his drive, but didn’t know what to do except keep thrusting into Graham, who had his eyes shut, though he was grappling at Alex’s arms for something to clutch. When Graham finally came, it was short and quiet. He wiped himself off with the sheet, accepted Alex’s kiss, which the bassist had intended to be longer, and turned over, pulling the blanket around his shoulders.   
“Are you alright?” Alex asked, resting on his elbow as he furrowed his brow. Graham looked to him in vague surprise.   
“Am I alright? Of course.”   
Alex wasn’t having that. He knew Graham, and most definitely knew when he was and wasn’t ‘alright’.   
“Cut the shit,” he said shortly. “You nearly just fell asleep while I fucked you, what does that say about me?!” He tried to grin, showing a joking manner, but Graham just sighed.   
“To tell truth, I’m just a bit worried for Damon,” he admitted after a minute of noisy contemplation. Alex gaped. He couldn’t believe what had just come out of Graham’s mouth. Of all people, of all times!   
“You’re what?”   
“I’m worried for him,” Graham repeated. After a moment of breath, he continued. “He seemed so down yesterday, and I don’t know- I think I should go check on him.”   
Alex was wildly confused, and getting a bit pissed off. More than a bit, actually; he was properly angry.   
“You want to go ‘check on’ Damon-” He made his fingers into air quotes, “-because ‘he’s feeling down’, when yesterday he was a complete asshole to me?!” he questioned, his eyes flashing.   
“Well, I think he might have-”   
“Shut up!” Alex snapped, and Graham recoiled. He hadn’t expected that much of a reaction. If anything, he had sort of hoped Alex would share his sympathy. They were all best friends after all, and it was only natural to worry about one another. Granted, Graham’s feelings for Damon weren’t exactly ‘natural’, given his current romantics status, but whatever. That didn’t matter.  
“What?” Graham asked quietly, moving slightly more to the other side of the bed.   
Alex just wasn’t having this bullshit. He got up, pulling his trousers back on as he fumbled around for the room key. He wasn’t going to stay in the room and indulge Graham’s stupid whims. He turned round one last time, facing the younger man, who was clutching the covers like he had just seen a ghost.   
“Know what? Why don’t you think about who your boyfriend actually is,” he spat before striding out the door, slamming it as hard as he could behind him. Graham could only think of how cruelly he had said the word ‘boyfriend’.   
-

It took Graham a few minutes to convince himself to get out of the bed, noting faintly that he still only had underpants on. There wasn’t much for him to do, his urge to visit Damon having passed. And now he and Alex were on bad terms, which would only ruin the day. There was no one for Graham to go to, except for Dave, but he was too level headed to know about all this.   
There was vodka in the fridge. That seemed a little heavy for a hotel room mini fridge, but Graham wasn’t complaining. He pulled it out, going through the motions of filling a dainty glass with the drink. He drank gleefully, as he reckoned Alex had bought the bottle for himself. He wouldn’t be happy when he noticed it gone.   
Mixing the vodka with apple juice only improved the taste slightly, and Graham’s empty stomach protested vaguely at being filled in this way. It wasn’t pleasant. Throat burning and eyes watering, he stumbled back to the bed and crawled across it to where the pillows lay. His stomach sloshed unkindly as he fell face first into the mattress, and he stayed still as the burn in his throat worsened. Drinking wasn’t very fun when you were alone, as Graham was now. It was only about one in the afternoon, but Graham figured he could stay asleep until bedtime. It wouldn’t be too hard to do, and he had done it plenty of times before. The blankets invited him in warmly, and he felt himself drift off to the sounds of cars passing below the window.   
-  
Alex got in late. He had gone out to eat, drink, and be merry with various people at the club. He couldn’t say it was enjoyable, but what a relief to chat with people who didn’t have about forty demons scratching to get out of their heads. Well, if they did, they didn’t show them to Alex. He was gratifyingly intoxicated, but not enough that it would be hard to play the following day. He had experienced that before, and could say it made playing a concert nearly unbearable. But it took a lot to get Alex that wasted, and he was from far that. He could probably drive if he wanted to. But, of course, there was no need, so in the early hours of the morning, he retreated back to the hotel room, buzzing and hoping in the back of his mind that Graham had figured himself out.   
He couldn’t tell if his wishes were granted, as Graham was fast asleep. This could either mean positive outcomes or negative. Alex had known both, and had no idea which it was. With a small shake of his disheveled hair, he peeled off his sweaty club clothes and began washing his face. His skin had been clear lately, and wasn’t about to put an end to a streak like that. Alex liked looking good.   
Graham didn’t even stir as he climbed in bed with him. The guitarist was overheated, his skin clammy under the covers. He was wheezing, too, like he’d been running a marathon minutes before this. This time of year could really get his asthma going.   
“Grah?” Alex murmured, tracing a hand along Graham’s cheekbone. “You awake?” He knew he wasn’t, but never hurt to check. He had forgiven Graham for being funny earlier, any anger he had been harbouring melting away as he took in his peaceful, sleeping face. Not that Alex liked to watch Graham as he slept, but he looked awful cute, and it made Alex realise how much he took for granted. Graham looked so young and unperturbed that Alex felt bad for ever causing him even the slightest of stress. Sighing to himself, he permitted a soft grin and wrapped his arms round Graham’s chest, nestling into the milky skin of his back.   
-  
Alex was wrong about being able to play. He was hungover, very hungover, and wanted nothing more than to get the fuck offstage. There were a few dozen reasons for this, but the main two were standing in front of him, canoodling for England.   
Damon had ignored Alex all morning, and had annoyed the shit out of him by being his usual, jaunty self. It drained any and all of Alex’s confidence, and left him skulking in the corner of the stage, resting his leg on the amplifier. Furthermore, Graham was apparently thrilled that Damon was back to ‘normal’, and had celebrated by getting toasted before going to play. This was also most likely to mask his epic hangover, but either way it was fucking stupid. He and Damon were playing up all during the show, heckling the audience and Dave, lying on the floor together (well, Graham lay down so he wouldn’t tip over, and Damon thought it so funny that he decided to lie with him too).   
They looked to be having the time of their lives. Alex wouldn’t have cared (that’s wrong, he would have), but they didn’t even notice he was there. They ignored him so far as to forget to tease him. The disregard felt worse than Damon calling him a blithering idiot and Graham laughing at that. He didn’t even want to play bass anymore at this point. It was impossible to lose himself in the music when all he wanted was to be included with the others. It was supposed to be fun, and Alex wasn’t having fun.   
And to top it all off, he had chosen to wear his stupid yellow shorts.   
So he kept a straight face when Graham told him corny jokes later, and ignored him when he tried to hang off Alex’s shoulders. In all honesty, he couldn’t be bothered, and that made Graham look chaotically bothered. After that, Graham gravitated to Damon’s open arms, and, again, Alex silently debated if he had made the right decision.   
-  
Graham had such a massive headache. It had been right there in his forehead since he woke up, and the copious amount of drinks he had consumed since then probably weren’t helping. Neither was the tiny, rickety boat that Blur was traveling on.   
They were being shown around Paris by a TV personality. Graham couldn’t understand how she got on TV, she was very plain looking, and didn’t really speak much English. There weren’t even any important sights visible from the boat. It was quite literally just parks and people’s apartments. One had been the former home of a famous writer, and Graham had watched as Alex perked up, craning his neck to see which building it was. Alex was giving him the cold shoulder, and Graham hadn’t any idea why. Well, maybe a little; he and Damon had written Alex off during the show, but that wasn’t anything new. They did it all the time. Alex had just chosen today to get in a strop about it. And that wasn’t Graham’s fault. He couldn’t control how Alex felt.   
He also couldn’t seem to control his stomach. The rocking of the boat was giving him awful motion sickness, or maybe it was the hangover... or the drinks. Most likely, it was all three, but that’s not what Graham was concerned about. He felt sick. Like, really sick. Like, he had to quickly tell Alex before he threw up. Gritting his teeth, he launched over to the bassist, clinging to his sleeves. Alex looked mildly irritated.   
“Love, I’m gonna be-”   
That was as far as he got, before he again had to launch over to the boat railing. The TV presenter looked mortified, and Damon and Dave were staring at him, disgusted. Alex wasn’t looking his way. Graham couldn’t mind that though, he was choking on heaves, trying not to think about how a camera crew was catching him being sick into the Seine. This was so unfortunate, messy, and loud. He pulled away, breathing frantically, his energy dwindling on nothing from the force of the act.   
And now he felt awful, curled up on the bench they were all sitting in. His face was burning, whether from embarrassment or otherwise, he didn’t know. Damon slid into the spot beside him and pulled an arm round his shoulders.   
“Y’alright?” he uttered, while the interviewer spoke to Alex in determinedly calm tone. Graham shook his head noncommittally. He didn’t want to draw more attention to himself than needed.   
“Fine, just hungover,” he grumbled, sneaking a glance at Alex, who hadn’t as much as moved. Talking made him feel worse, so he hung his head, unable to produce any more words. Damon pursed his lips, looking like maybe he didn’t believe this, but he held his tongue- for a moment.   
“Well, you’ve got me to take care of you, right?” he said a little too loudly, and Alex’s head snapped in their direction. He got up, his saunter interrupted by the swaying of the boat, and positioned himself in front of Damon.   
“She wants to talk to you,” he said, not bothering to meet Damon’s eye, thrusting a hand towards the now frightened interviewer. The singer grimaced at Alex before getting up, squeezing Graham’s shoulder as he did so. Alex was quick to wrap his arms round the guitarist in a show of territory, enveloping him in warmth, which was only heightened by the bassist rubbing his arms. Graham looked up just in time to see the other two share a glance, and he swore that a fucking war could be started with how much hatred they both showed.   
Graham could kick himself for causing all this. It looked as though the band wouldn’t be the same ever again, with all this romantic drama going on. Perhaps they should have stuck to girlfriends (not boyfriends, because Graham couldn’t stand seeing Alex, or Damon, for that matter, with another man). He supposed that was why you didn’t mess around with your friends, but he was in way too deep now. He had fallen in love. Multiple times. And if he could be completely honest to himself, he would rather have fallen in the river. Drowning sounded pleasant right now.   
-

Graham didn’t know how he had managed to get wasted again. It was just easier to keep The Drunk going than deal with the repercussions. But why not do it, when it was so much easier, and there didn’t seem to be any visible harm done by it. Being drunk kind of made all the situations Graham had been so worried about fade away.   
Even the band was getting along, sat in another booth in the back of another club. Graham wasn’t even sure if everyone was actually laughing and having a jolly old time, or if he was just drunk enough to think so. Whatever the reasoning may be, he was glad Alex and Damon had apparently settled themselves. Though they were across the table from each other, there were no snide looks or evil glances being tossed around. It was such a nice change, thought Graham.   
Even Dave was having a good time. Despite being married, he was very interested in chatting up the rounds girls that came and went from their table. All in good fun, Graham supposed.   
Speaking of good fun, it hadn’t gone unnoticed how good Damon looked. Graham could have sworn he put on makeup, because one’s eyelashes weren’t that dark and thick without mascara, and one’s lips simply couldn’t be that red naturally. Was there gel in his hair? Or had it just come to rest so perfectly tousled? Graham didn’t know, but he wanted to spend less time just looking at it, and more time actually doing something about it. He couldn’t though, not with Alex right there, looking fab himself, though a tad less delectable. More chiseled though Alex was, Damon had that knack of making people want to dry hump him in the middle of the booth. Graham, upset he couldn’t fulfill the drunken fantasy he had come up with, contented himself in other ways.   
“You’re looking rather fuckable tonight,” he murmured, leaning in close to Damon’s ear. The sentence had come out a little louder than he had originally intended, and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see Alex’s eyes flick his way. Damon just looked smug with himself. He had known what he was doing before they even left for the club.   
Dave definitely heard, as he knit his brow and waggled his finger when he and Graham found themselves both in the toilet.   
“You oughta watch out,” he said. “Alex might hear you next time.”   
In reply, Graham studied Dave a moment, absentmindedly licking his lips at the thought of the predicament he had found himself in. Careful, though he needed to be, he wasn’t sure that would supply the outcome he wanted.   
-  
“Why don’t you come here?”   
Graham was in the washroom, gazing restlessly at his reflection in the mirror. The more he stared, the more issues with his face he found. But he couldn’t bring himself to look away, not just yet.   
“Graham!” Alex yelled, and the guitarist finally shuffled out into view. Alex took note of how disheveled he looked, and wondered how he had gotten that way. They had been together all night, but he was only noticing this development now. Trying to shrug it off, he beckoned Graham over to the bed. It wasn’t like Alex hadn’t picked up on the fact Graham was getting increasingly more distant as the tour went on, and he intended to reel him back in, somehow.   
Tonight, it was just a simple cuddle. They could rent a film, charge some extra money to the band’s hotel bill. Or just sit, or read, or really do anything that involved staying in bed for the rest of the night. Except drink, because though Alex loved the drink as much as Graham did, he was sober enough to know more alcohol wasn’t about to improve their situation. So it was just a good cuddle, and Help!, which happened to be available to rent on the TV. The knowledge of this cause the two to smirk at each other, both aware of their shared love of The Beatles and their cheesy movies.   
Alex sighed as he let Graham nestle against his side like an annoying dog. Glasses were off, shoes strewn onto the floor, and the blankets were immediately mussed up. But Alex was grateful; he loved the feeling of Graham’s hand idly running along his side, like he didn’t even realise he was doing it. The other was draped across his chest in a protective manner, which was funny, given Graham was probably the last person Alex would choose to protect him in any way. Neither man said anything as they settled into their cuddle, just slowly tangled themselves together in various attempts to get comfortable.  
They ended up in what would be seen as a rather uncomfortable position, on the contrary, but it was this way that Graham was dozing off, so Alex knew he wouldn’t be able to adjust anymore. He was stretched out, his legs beginning to cramp from where Graham’s had intertwined around them. The guitarist had nearly made a right angle between the two of them, his head resting on Alex’s stomach (he guessed the gurgling didn’t bother Graham). His arms were wrapped tight round Alex’s waist, which was admittedly a little painful, but tolerable.   
Alex knew he would have to wait to fall asleep- in no way could he do so in this position, but for the time being, his world seemed alright, and so he wasn’t in any hurry to switch it round again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and comments greatly appreciated thank you very much (for the aintree iron)


	6. Switch Off and Try to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a porny one, but like not very good times. Graham is melting, Alex is questioning, Damon is upset.  
> okay wow I am so sorry for being absent for about 85 years??? Fell out of writing, school caught up, a lot of eugh happened.. but hopefully this nearly 5000 word chap makes up for it?? like i mean nothing happens in it but ugh its here there'll be more soon  
> disclaimer: i don't own any human beings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i hate how ao3 always takes out all my formatting but ugh im too lazy to fix it sorry hope its legible and this is also unbetaed so)

“I feel ill.”  
Alex and Damon both rolled their eyes, though neither noticed the other doing so. From Graham’s point of view, it looked very funny, although it just made him more upset. He hated people deliberately ignoring him when he tried to get their attention. He supposed that was the entire point of them acting this way, but it was still so hurtful.  
“I really do feel so ill,” he murmured petulantly, and Alex finally took a moment to look his way. After the ordeal on the boat, Graham’s complaints could be taken a tad more seriously.  
“Y’okay?” asked Alex, squeezing Graham’s arm as he tucked him against his side. Graham made a few small sounds, rubbed his hair furiously, and made a show of adjusting his glasses before answering: “No,” with about five syllables.  
In the seat diagonally in front of him, Damon laughed. Though it was obviously in good nature, Graham puffed up his chest and exhaled sharply out his nose.  
“I’m not kidding, I still feel awful nauseous, and I think I’ve got fever!”  
Damon looked back sympathetically, his tanned hand reaching out to pat Graham’s knee. Though the motion wasn’t much, Graham revelled in any show of physical intimacy. He found that if he was whinier, the others seemed to take more pity on him, and grant him hugs and little comforting touches. Graham loved being comforted. That was the sort of thing you just couldn’t say aloud, though everyone could easily tell. He didn’t care. He loved it all the same.  
“I don’t get why you’re complaining, we’re nearly back to the hotel,” said Alex. Graham just made a small humming sound, closing his eyes as he rested on Alex’s shoulder.  
“You’re probably just dehydrated,” Damon’s voice announced in that droll tone only he could pull off, and a bottle of champagne was clinking against Graham’s shin. With a quiet “ta,” the drink was being downed, taking barely any regard to the way his body screamed in revolt. Graham delighted in the burn the champagne had given him. It took away from the pain elsewhere, and prompted him not to open his eyes again.  
“You oughta just take a nap when we arrive, yeah?” Alex patted Graham’s back, causing him to sputter out a cough. “You’re obviously in dire need of a good kip.”  
Graham didn’t answer, but he definitely could agree with that. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a seriously good sleep, or even just a relaxing lie down. It had been too long since Graham was last relaxed.  
“Bags under my eyes are tugging my face to hell,” he mumbled, reaching delicately for the cigarette in Alex’s hand. The bassist laughed lightly, lighting another as Graham took an unnecessarily long drag on his. It was as if Graham had never learned to smoke, hacking and wheezing every single time the cigarette touched his lips, like it was brand new. It wasn’t one of the things Alex found most endearing about Graham, but it was interesting all the same. Nothing could ever be boring with Graham.  
“I’m going straight to that pub,” Damon sighed, squinting out the van window as the hotel came into view. Alex permitted a chuckle; no need to get on bad terms with Damon again.  
“Might join you at that,” he replied. Graham was admittedly dozing, eyes closed, cigarette dangling from his lips, but he could still hear, and he wasn’t at all pleased with what he was hearing.  
-  
“Don’t think about a thing, okay?”  
Graham nodded, realizing just how tired he really was, bundled under all the blankets. His head was thumping again, and his throat was doing that odd thing where it feels all slimy down the back. Graham never understood what exactly that was, but knew it was the marker of a cold, a cold he was not about to fall victim to.  
“Where are you going?” He propped himself up on his elbows, blearily peering at Alex, who was pulling on new trousers.  
“Just downstairs.” The reply was so easy, like leaving your boyfriend up in the hotel while you go to drink was the simplest thing in the world. Graham furrowed his brow, slowly shaking his head as he watched Alex button up a white Oxford.  
“And I’ll just stay here?” he demanded, crossing his arms and holding them tightly to his chest. Alex turned to him, face flashing with a slight pity, and came to sit on the bed.  
“You’re not very well, I don’t think drinking any more today will do you any good,” he admitted. Graham was quiet, staring determinedly at the wrinkled bedsheets. He hated when Alex was responsible. Graham knew he needed someone like that, but it wasn’t terribly exciting, and definitely not what he wanted.  
When Graham didn’t answer, Alex wrapped his arm round Graham’s waist, pulling the two against each other.  
“I’m just going for some food, don’t be in a strop with me,” he pled, planting a small kiss on the nape of Graham’s neck. The guitarist huffed quietly, turning away from Alex. He wasn’t in the mood to validate him. He felt fatigued enough already, he simply didn’t have to will to give Alex what he needed.  
“C’mon, just give us a little smile,” said Alex, his voice muffled against the worn fabric of Graham’s t shirt. Graham just closed his eyes, flinching when fingers found their way along his middle, spidering up and down his sides.  
“Alex, stop!” he exclaimed, though he couldn’t help cracking a grin then. Alex pinned him in a tight embrace, kissing Graham’s neck in a messy fashion as he tickled him. Graham couldn’t contain the giggles that bubbled out his lips eclectically. He let himself melt into Alex, clinging to him as he let his laughter bounce off the hotel’s stucco walls.  
“There we go!” Alex chuckled, sighing contentedly. He sat back, one arm behind his head, the other drifting mindlessly along Graham’s ribcage. The muscles in Graham’s stomach jumped each time Alex’s fingers passed over them, but the little touch was soothing, gentle and so rhythmic in nature that Graham wasn’t sure he’d be able to move ever again.  
And then it stopped.  
“Most I’ve seen you laugh in awhile.” Alex smiled. “Sleep well, okay?” He kissed Graham softly once more before straightening up, smoothing out any wrinkles in his shirt before he left. “I’ll be back before we leave, would you like anything?”  
“Just chips,” Graham muttered, though he wasn’t hungry. Alex would pay for them (if he remembered) and they would just sit next to the TV for days, but Graham was sure Alex knew that. He would get them if he felt it was morally right. He probably wouldn’t.  
A soft “love you!’ sounded across the room, and Graham smiled in response. Then the door slammed and Alex was gone. Graham was alone. Cold. Tired. Lonely. His shirt was still pulled up, making him uncomfortable as cool air blew through the vents. Blinking hard as if he might cry, he forced himself into a sitting position. He didn’t want to be all alone. The mere fact that the sheets no longer were warm with Alex’s presence made Graham get up, holding a surprised hand to his forehead during the moment in which he nearly fell over. That hadn’t been expected, and he had to clutch the dresser for a minute.  
He hadn’t properly eaten yet that day, save for two pieces of toast before a miniature pre-show show. For the first time in probably a few weeks, he felt hungry.  
With careful, slow movements, he pulled the little hotel fridge open to search for something to put in his stomach. The fridge was full of drinks. It’s as if life was mocking him for making a small attempt to reel in a portion of his life. With a small sigh, he decided to instead lap up some water from the tap. A little bit disgusting, but Graham could live with that. But he did need to find food, and he knew where he could.  
-  
Damon was on the phone when Graham began knocking on his door. He could hear him laughing loudly at something whoever was on the other line had said, and then hanging up with seemingly a lot of extra clanging and smashing.  
As usual, Damon took his time looking through the peephole at Graham, as if he wasn’t sure if he should let him in. The door unlatched, and Graham’s face was stuffed into Damon’s shoulder. “Hi, babe.”  
They hadn’t fucked for days. Both understood that it had to be taken slowly, especially since Damon and Alex were butting heads more often than usual, and the bassist was starting to act a little too oddly for Graham to feel okay with. He was sure Damon had found someone else to satiate his needs, but the thought made him want to leave, so he just draped his arms round Damon’s shoulders, bumping his nose on the way to a kiss.  
“What have you got to eat?” Graham murmured, letting himself be pulled onto the bed. He fell backwards, forgetting that he situation most likely required him to stay upright. Damon looked puzzled at his request, quirking a brow as he rustled around a fast food bag.  
“I ate about half this burger.” He held it up, and Graham wrinkled his nose. It didn’t look very good. “But that’s it, sorry.”  
“I’ll have it.” Graham got up, this time ignoring the dizziness, which was now repeating itself over and over. He didn’t like burgers, or meat even for that matter, but was just forcing himself to eat something. He wasn’t too daft to realise that he wasn’t taking care of himself.  
Damon watched with curious disgust as Graham took tiny bites, chewing slowly, like he was a weird creature accepting a new food from a human. He didn’t exactly understand Graham all the time, but he liked to think he understood him best of everyone.  
He smiled about this as they kissed, half a burger now gone, the two of them lying on the bed covers, hands wandering feverishly, each exploring the other’s skin. Their few days apart had really weighed on them, on Damon in particular, and there was a heated desire to get to the point.  
Damon trailed his lips down Graham’s neck as he fumbled to undo his pants. The guitarist let out a breathy moan as his cock was pulled from his pants, sharp teeth nipping his clavicle at the same time. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had sex in the past few days, but sex with Damon was always so passionate, so different from Alex. Was selfishly disturbed of Graham that he felt like he needed both?  
Barely any foreplay, but neither needed it. Their hips were locked together, moving as one. Graham played off whatever sounds Damon was making, rather high pitched for the singer, perfectly in time with the way he thrust into him. Graham’s throat hurt, and he couldn’t muster much sound. At first, the prospect of having sex with Damon had renewed his energy, but it was waning again.  
His eyes were closed, and though that was usual, it was making it easy for Graham to slip away. Damon was doing all the work, arms clutching round Graham’s sides, making a rhythm that felt as comfortable as falling asleep. Graham’s thoughts strayed, then, in that strange way that they do.  
He thought of which channel number MTV was in France, and images of fields appeared lazily in his mind’s eye. When he was younger, his mother had brought them to a field of lavender to walk around and take pictures in. Graham had gotten allergic, and they had to leave. But it was beautiful anyways, he could appreciate the flowers, though his eyes were quite puffy.  
Damon hitting a low note brought Graham back, and he cursed himself for slipping away. But his mind was fuzzy, he was so tired, and no matter how hard he blinked, he couldn’t get rid of that. With each blink, his eyes threatened to stay shut. Eventually he let them, and Damon’s melodic moans drowned out his head and weaved through indistinct, black and white dreams. 

“Graham Coxon!”  
Graham squeezed his entire face, trying to push out an intrusive hand patting at his cheeks. But the hand continued poking, his name being called a few more times. Finally, he found the strength to open his eyes, using his palms to rub away any last remnants of sleep.  
Damon was hovering above him, his expression contorted in a sort of anger. Graham blinked, letting out a yawn he had meant to keep in. He was naked. He was in Damon’s room. In a split second’s remembrance, he got his bearings.  
“Have a nice fucking rest?” Damon demanded, and Graham could do nothing but blink again, unsure of what to answer.  
“I... don’t know,” he said quietly after a few eons deliberation. Damon got up, sighing in a snarling kind of way as he put on his boxer shorts. “Have I upset you?”  
Damon looked to him wildly, his fingers splayed wide as he threw his hands in the air.  
“You think it feels nice, then?!”  
Graham tried hard to think of something that could have possibly made Damon so mad, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. They had been having sex, what could have possibly gone so wrong during that? Had Graham not come? He couldn’t remember coming.  
“I...” He wasn’t sure what to say, his thoughts hadn’t worked themselves out into a coherent sentence yet.  
“You don’t fall asleep on Alex, do you?!”  
A terrified embarrassment struck straight through Graham’s stomach. He had fallen asleep while they were having sex. He did a lot of things, but so far that hadn’t been one of them. He opened his mouth to apologise, but no words came out, so he just gaped like a fish until Damon spoke again.  
“That’s so bloody rude! It’s like you don’t even want to be here!” he cried. “What, were you dreaming of him while I fucking- while I fucked you?!” Damon was shouting, pacing in front of the bed. His face was starting to flush red, and Graham was well aware that meant he was truly mad.  
“I can’t believe you, Graham!” Damon exclaimed, making Graham shrink under the covers. He was still sat in bed, still naked, still queasy and tired.  
“You’re such a goddamn slut,” Damon growled, and Graham burst into tears.  
He didn’t even mean to start crying, it was just so easy to let the tears drip down his face, sniveling and making ugly little sounds. Graham could cry almost at the drop of a dime these days. Damon just stared at him while his shoulders shook with small sobs, dumbfounded.  
“Hey,” he said in a soft tone, crawling back onto the bed. “Hey, it’s okay.”  
Graham shook his head, taking a great shuddering breath and letting it out in bundles of tears. Damon wrapped an arm round his shoulders, pulling him close and shushing him gently.  
“Don’t worry, I’m sorry I got mad! That was wrong of me, I’m sorry, babe!” he squeezed Graham tightly, pressing his nose into Graham’s neck. It was his way of being comforting.  
“I’m an idiot,” Graham finally sputtered out, and Damon made a disapproving sound.  
“No!” He laughed lightly and pet Graham’s spiky little fringe. “I’m so sorry, I should have realized.” Damon sighed again, rubbing Graham’s back until he was reduced to occasional hiccoughs. What he should have realized, he didn’t know, but it seemed to help Graham.  
“Had a big cry, huh?” he asked tenderly, to which Graham nodded, smearing his knuckles across his eyes. Damon was quiet, watching him solemnly for a few moments. “Why don’t you just head to bed? I’ll wake you when we leave, love.”  
Graham was about to protest, say something about how Alex was bringing him chips, but something inside prompted him to stay silent, simply nodding again. Damon pulled the covers up, frowning slightly at Graham before getting into bed beside him.  
“What’re you doing?” he asked. Damon smiled softly, his arms reaching to latch around Graham’s stomach. He nestled aggressively until he had gotten Graham into a proper spooning position, their ankles tangling together. Graham was glad. He had chilly feet.  
“I could use a good nap too,” Damon answered, and Graham had no objection to that. Every part of him had gone rather chilly, not just his feet, and the warmth of Damon’s cheeks pressed to his shoulder, his hair tickling his jawline, his mellow breath smoothing out Graham’s own- it lulled him away.  
-

Alex had never been in such a position. This wasn’t his crappy hotel room. He was a few floors up, in a suite. The carpets were all plush, a nice shag fabric, the lighting low and reddish. He was lying spread eagle on a circular bed, almost more interested in the silken bedspread than the three women who stood before him.  
He had gone to the bar, just to mingle, as he usually did, but also in hopes of finding something relatively okay to eat. He didn’t think he could bear any more sandwiches with limp lettuce and tasteless fucking school canteen lunch style cheese. Of course, while he was there, he had to have a few drinks. What was the point of going to the bar if you weren’t planning on drinking? In all, it was a short trip, he truly was worried for Graham, and had kept his promise of bringing him back chips. He knew Graham wouldn’t eat them on his own, but with Alex’s help, he would be able to get the guitarist to eat at least a little.  
So he was only there for about two drinks time, before he excused himself from the group of architects he had befriended, and headed back upstairs. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, he entered their room to find the bed unmade, the maddening sound of the faucet dripping, and Graham gone. With a defeated sigh, he sat down.  
Of course Graham couldn’t take one minute without being waited on hand and foot. If Alex even went to the washroom, Graham was against the door, whining and demanding he be let in, or at least talked to. He was a needy, clingy motherfucker, but Alex loved him all the same. He really quite liked being needed, there was something special about it that made him feel a bit more whole.  
But now, sitting alone in the darkened hotel room, knowing he could do nothing but wait for Graham to come back. He might not even come back before they had to leave for the show. He had the horrible image of Damon and Graham out at the pub together, getting smashed before going onstage, having a repeat of the last few shows. Alex couldn’t handle that. Graham was in love with him, after all, and honestly could act like it more often. Alex knew he shouldn’t question Graham, that he was a strange, delicate person, and one push the wrong way could send everything off the edge. But Alex was also a man in his prime, blessed with being currently famous, thus used to getting whatever he liked, unfortunately. And though Graham was his first priority, Graham was gone, and Alex had to keep himself afloat too. 

One quick call to a group of sorority girls, visiting from an American university, who had given Alex their number, and he was suddenly in a room he was sure was designed for sex.  
“What should we do to him?” one of the girls asked the others, theatrically tapping her chin.  
“Kiss him first, see if he’s as good as he looks,” the other decided, and then Alex was being kissed. Determined to impress, he kissed back, trying not to be fazed when she opened his mouth with hers, brushing her tongue along his bottom lip. He hadn’t kissed a girl for so long, it was nerve wracking. A hand ran down his thigh and he let out a moan, not even realising.  
“He’s quite keen.” One of the girls was English, she must have been bringing her friends back home to visit. Who knows? Alex couldn’t concentrate, because the contact had been lost, and the three of them were surveying him again.  
It was as though they telepathically were communicating, all moving at once to stroke everywhere they could- his arms, chest, stomach, his legs, even. A pair of lips connected to his neck, and he couldn’t help his hips bucking as someone else’s lips ghosted over his crotch. All three of them laughed at that reaction, and continued their ministrations.  
Alex had definitely had threesomes, no doubt about that, but never had he let himself be solely pleasured by other people. Usually, it was a two way street, but not with these girls. They moved around him, touching and kissing where they saw fit, pushing him down any time he tried to get up and reciprocate. He could barely take the fact he was being made out with, sucked off, and touched elsewhere all at the same time. Not to mention the fact somebody had taken the liberty of rolling their tongue round his nipples until he was nearly panting for breath.  
He was going to come in .002 seconds flat if they kept this up. His hips were jumping wildly at the sensation of an expert tongue licking slowly up the underside of his cock, flicking over the head before going down again. His abdomen was twitching under soft fingers without calluses from playing guitar glided up and down from his ribs to his protruding hip bones. Lips were sucking bruises onto his chest, up to his collarbones, and onto his neck. And then he was coming, set over the edge by feather light kisses to his jaw, fingers tinkling down onto the sensitive inner part of his thighs from his navel. What was happening to the rest of his body was overtaking him. He could have sworn he went blind for a moment before exhaling a moan, his eyes scrunched shut. He couldn’t possibly look appealing right now.  
He lay, dormant from the force of his orgasm, and his first thought was that he must try to recreate that with Graham. Graham. The realization of what he had just partook in left Alex feeling sick with himself. Graham was selfless when it came to relationships. No matter how distant and caught up in his demons he was, he still had infinite love for Alex, and at the thought of Graham’s faux childlike voice, he felt infinitely guilty.  
Graham was probably back in their room, wondering where Alex had gotten to, and drinking himself silly out of confusion and sadness. Alex had to get back to him.  
“Are you alright?”  
“He looks horrible...”  
“Sorry if we hurt you, Damon.”  
And that was it. Alex flew up, scrambling to get his trousers back on, tripping over the shag carpet to get to the door. If anything, he needed a good drink.  
-  
“You need to shower!”  
Graham rolled his eyes, though it hurt to do so. The nap hadn’t rejuvenated him, as naps often don’t. He had woken up groggy, stomach churning, his head so heavy that he could barely look up at Damon.  
“Don’t need one,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. His glasses were making them hurt, and for the first time since he could remember, he decided to take them off. Blearily, he gazed up at Damon’s slightly fuzzy shape.  
“You do. You smell.” Damon was the authority on smells. He could even get a little weird about them, sniffing Graham’s hair a little too enthusiastically sometimes. But Graham could deal with it, it wasn’t a bad thing anyways, he didn’t think.  
“I don’t,” he croaked, making Damon scoff. The singer put a hand on his hip, tapping his bare foot. He had just been for a shower after initially waking Graham from their nap. While he was in the washroom, Graham had fallen asleep again.  
“You do- really badly,” Damon replied, accepting the fact he wasn’t going to win this battle, “but if you really don’t want a bath, at least change your clothes.” Pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, Graham managed to nod. He closed his eyes, wondering how in hell he was going to make it through an entire show. His body felt full of lead, his head aching in protest to every move he made.  
“Are you coming? We’re already late.” Damon was putting on his shoes, hopping to the door as he tied his laces. Graham got up, too quickly, and he steadied himself against the wall. Damon looked to him, bewildered, and shook his head. “You’re crazy.”  
“I’m sick,” Graham answered as they started down the hall to he and Alex’s room. Damon, in reply, gave Graham a kiss on the cheek, ruffling his hair.  
“Go in before me, actually, I’ll meet you by the van.” 

-

The venue reeked of booze, and cigarettes, and sweat. Graham held two of the three in his hands, and was sure he could also claim the third. He was in a bad way, now feeling so ill that he could barely process what anyone else was saying. The beer he was drinking wasn’t helping, and neither was the cigarette he was desperately puffing on, and he had already been bent over two different trash cans, for fear of another vomiting episode.  
They had ten minutes until they were due onstage, and Graham was passing the time trailing woozily behind Damon as he made his rounds. Alex was cross with him. In their hotel room, he had thrust a bag of chips at him, mumbling under his breath. Graham couldn’t make out everything, but he had caught the words: “goddamn,” “nap,” and “fucking chips”. Graham was too consumed with how much his body was threatening to deteriorate that the most he did to fix things was squeezing Alex’s hand tightly and brushing his too-long fringe from his eyes.  
Speaking of Alex, Graham hadn’t seen him since they arrived at the venue. He looked vaguely around for him, his vision catching up with his head just too slow. Alex was in the corner by the door, leaning up on the wall, in close conversation with a girl who had hair to her waist. Not a good look, in Graham’s opinion.  
“‘xcuse me,” he grunted in Damon’s general direction before he stomped over to where Alex stood. Neither he nor the girl seemed to notice Graham’s drunken arrival, and he decided to shout to announce his presence.  
“Are you fucking serious?!” His words rang painfully in his ears, more slurred together than he had figured they would be. Alex turned to him, expression politely quizzical. The girl’s mouth hung open in blatant confusion.  
“Hello, Grah.” Alex didn’t seem very pleased with the guitarist being there, but also didn’t outwardly show any displeasure. Graham hated him for his ability to hide emotions.  
“You’re a fucking prick,” he spat loudly, causing people to look over at them. “You know you’re being a prick. And you hate me, I’m starting to think you really do fucking hate me!” He wasn’t making sense, and he knew that. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted to say to Alex, exactly, his feelings were running faster and more complex than he was managing to comprehend.  
“You fucking know I don’t,” Alex countered, his tone full of exasperation. Graham shook his head, and it hurt so fucking badly. He had to close his eyes, his face growing hotter by the second.  
“You’re just... you’re so...” Graham exhaled slowly, his heart pounding as his stomach clenched painfully. Alex eyed him, his face turning into a worried frown for a short second.  
“What am I?” he demanded then, as if regaining the annoyance he had momentarily lost.  
Graham couldn’t answer that. He bent over, shuffled a few steps to the left, and was sick into a recycling bin. He felt Alex patting his back, even though Graham had just so badly yelled at him. That fact alone made the tears come faster than the vomit. He was choking, crying, and suddenly, he was putting on his guitar, stumbling into the bright lights of the stage.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback appreciated this is my first thing ever


End file.
